


Shark Week

by SapphoIsBurning



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Established Relationship, F/F, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Menstruation, Sick Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-16 05:46:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13629909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SapphoIsBurning/pseuds/SapphoIsBurning
Summary: When Peyton Royce takes a sickie, Billie gets ready to play nurse.





	Shark Week

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kadma](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kadma/gifts).



“Peyton, what’s the matter?” Billie asked. Peyton hadn’t looked well at the Performance Center the previous day, and called in sick today.

Billie was ready to play nurse.

“I’m on my blob,” Peyton sighed. She pulled her knees up to her stomach and curled herself into a ball on the couch.

“Your what?” Billie said. She sat down at Peyton’s feet and pulled them into her lap, rubbing them gently with her thumbs.

“You know,” Peyton said. “Shark week.”

“I love Shark Week,” Billie said, reaching for the television remote.

“Periods, Billie, I’m getting my freaking period! It’s not shark week, it’s just a regular bloody nightmare.”

“I think it might be Shark Week, though! Look.” She changed the channel on the television to the Discovery channel to a documentary show: a diver was being lowered into the water in a cage. “Reminds me of home.”

“You’re mad,” Peyton said, but she laughed as she said it. “They fucking kill people.”

“Shark Week has never killed anyone, Paz. I’ll keep you safe,” Billie said. She patted her calf and got up off the couch. “Fancy a cuppa?”

Peyton just groaned wordlessly.

“I’ll put the kettle on,” Billie said, agreeing with her own suggestion. She busied herself fussing around Peyton’s kitchen, filling the electric kettle with water from the tap and setting it to boil. She put a teabag into a chipped WWE branded mug and dug through a cupboard for something sweet.

“It’s my period, not the influenza,” Peyton huffed.

“I’ll get the heating pad,” Billie said.

“I don’t have a heating pad,” Peyton said. The diver in the shark cage was being rattled by an attack from all sides.

“You do,” Billie said. She went to the hall closet where the miscellaneous things were stored, the camping gear and the Christmas decorations and everything else. “I’m sure it’s in here somewhere.”

“Billie,” Peyton said. “You don’t have to do any of this.”

“You’re my girlfriend,” Billie said, indignant. “I am here for you thick and thin, on the good days and bad ones. Right now you’re a few mills low—”

“I feel like I’ve been hit with a truck,” Peyton said.

“Well. I’m going to find the heating pad and fetch you some Nurofen, and then you’ll be right as rain.”

Peyton sighed and uncurled herself. She stretched out and pulled a thin blanket over her body, curling up with it.

A few minutes later, the tea kettle was whistling and Billie rushed over to pour it into the mug. In no time, she was hustling over to Peyton, plugging the heating pad in and arranging it, bringing more pillows and a stuffed toy rabbit from the bedroom, and then a tray piled with tea, sugar, milk, painkillers, and a whole package of double chocolate Tim Tams.

“There,” Billie said, dusting her hands off dramatically.

“I should chuck a sickie more often,” Peyton said.

“I’ll always take care of my other half,” Billie said. She bent down and planted a kiss on the top of Peyton’s head. “Now. Scoot over. I want to watch some sharks.”


End file.
